The dust falls silently after the deafening explosions. The only sound is the whimpering from the wreckage of what used to be her child’s bedroom.
She claws frantically at the rubble unaware of the blood oozing from her hands, or her head. The whimpering stops, and she tries to dig even harder, shouting, screaming “Help, help me, my child is in there!”
There is no one to hear her cries. They are all dead. Soon, she will wish she was too. The tears will dry up, and the pain inside her will be inextinguishable.